The Balloon
by MountainTop76
Summary: Nobody sends handwritten letters in today's modern age, so Bella is surprised when she returns home from college to find one waiting for her. Who is it from and what do they want? ENTRY FOR MEET AND MATE CONTEST


**This was an entry I did for the Meet the Mate Contest. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review this story. I'm toying with extending it and have put a few bits to paper, but in the mean time please check out my new multichapter story, Healing.**

 **Thanks also to Anton M who was my Beta.**

**I do not own Twilight or any recognisable characters. This was all for fun.**

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"Mom, dad, I'm back." I yell into my childhood home, pushing the door open with a loud bang as my heavy bag swings forward unexpectedly, sending me off balance and toppling into the opposite wall. Ouch, that's going to bruise. My parents are expecting me, but I've made good time on the roads from Seattle so I'm a little bit early. I breathe in the smells I remember fondly from my childhood, my mum's overused air fresheners and dad's lingering fishing smells they never quite cover, and I'm instantly taken back to the times when I'd announce my arrival every day after hopping off the school bus.

"There you are, sweetheart, it's so good to have you back." My mum comes bustling through from the kitchen, embracing me in a hug. It has been a while since I've been home, having worked through thanksgiving, but I am looking forward to being pampered over the next two weeks.

"It's good to be back mom, what smells good?" Whilst I was growing up my mom had never been the best cook, but since I've left for college she has attended a few evening courses and seems to be getting better and better every time I visit, much to dad's joy.

"Oh it's just a stew I threw together, something comforting after your long journey that I could keep warm on the stove waiting for you." The thoughtfulness of her gesture warms my heart and I wonder why I don't come home more often. Oh yeah, that could be due to the price of air fares and my college work load. I'd been so excited to get into an Ivy League college, and my parents had both been so proud, but I need to maintain a high GPA to ensure continuation of my scholarship and that puts a lot of pressure on me.

I follow mom into the living room where dad is, predictably, watching a football game on the TV. He glances up at me and gives me a huge smile as I enter. "How was the journey, Bells? Did you get a good hire car? One that's nice and safe I hope." That's my dad. Always looking out for my safety.

"The journey was long and tiring and yes the hire car is a very safe model." I look around the room, taking in the Christmas tree in the corner, this year decorated in red and gold, the base surrounded by numerous presents which I know will not only be for the three of us but also for several of mom and dad's friends who they have visiting for their traditional Christmas eve party in a few days.

"Are you hungry?" asks my mother.

"For your beef stew? Always, love," pipes up my dad.

"I wasn't asking you, and you know it," chuckles my mother in an affectionate tone, "but you can have some too. Bella?"

"I'd love some, mom, just give me a moment to freshen up then I'll be back down. Do you have some of your chunky farmer's bread you've been raving about to go with it?" The bread making class had happened before last Christmas, earning her a bread making machine from my dad under the tree a year ago and since then they have assured me they haven't eaten a single loaf of shop-bought bread.

"I certainly do dear. I'll see you back down in a moment."

It doesn't take me long to haul my suitcase upstairs and to grab a quick shower, removing the grime of travel, and soon the three of us are sitting around the small kitchen table tucking into warming bowls of fragrant goodness. I relax for the first time in what feels like forever and smile lovingly at my parents as we engage in small talk about my course, dad's work and mom's hobbies. It really is good to be home.

We are just finishing up and dad and I are arguing over who is going to do the washing up, when mum grabs a small white envelope that has been stuck with magnets to the front of the fridge.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. This came for you a few days ago, we figured it could wait till you got here. It's so rare to get a real letter in this age of the computer. I'm really curious to know who it's from, and why they'd be writing to you here. Not that I'm complaining, but your friends know to contact you at college. Were you expecting anything?"

I took the letter from her and turned it over in my hands. The front of the envelope was marked with my name and my parents address in a looping elegant script that I don't recognize. I turn it over and see a return address in Chicago. I'm puzzled to say the least. I don't know anyone in Chicago, and why would someone be writing to me anyway? Everyone uses email to communicate in this day and age, don't they? I'm intrigued.

Settling into the loveseat in the living room, I continue to turn the envelope over and over in my hand, as if more clues will become apparent if I look at it for longer.

"You'll only find out what it's about by opening it." My dad breaks into my thoughts as he takes a perch in his usual recliner. I glance up and see mom hovering in the doorway. It would appear they are as curious to know the contents of my unexpected mail as I am.

I smile and shake my head before carefully tearing open the top of the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper folded neatly in two, covered once again in the same elegant script as the envelope, and a yellowed wrinkled piece of old paper with faded childhood writing on it. My parents seem to lean closer to me and the room is so quiet the rustling of the paper seems deafening as I unfold the letter and begin to read.

"Oh my god!" I exclaim, startling both my attentive parents. "Do you remember when I was in elementary school we had that balloon competition when it was the 50th anniversary?"

"Do you mean that time when you all released a balloon with your names and address attached and there was a prize for whose balloon went the furthest? How could we forget? You were convinced you were going to win and then you cried for days when Lauren got the prize after her balloon was returned from Seattle. You never did get yours back, did you? I think that actually upset you more than Lauren winning to be honest. You kept going on about it being lost out there on its own." My mom chuckles at the now fond memory.

"Well, it would seem I may have won after all. My balloon appears to have made it all the way to Chicago."

"No way! Your balloon's been found after all these years? But you were only about eight when they were released. How did it get all the way to Chicago?"

"I don't know dad, but it did. This is a letter from the man who found it. He says he was clearing out the guttering at his parent's new house when he discovered the balloon and its label under the leaves. He hopes I've won as Chicago is a long way away and he would be interested to hear back from me to find out if I did. It's written as if he's talking to a child."

"Well, he probably thinks he is. You were only eight when you sent that."

"Eight and a half," corrects my mum, reminding us of my tendency at that age to ensure everyone knew the details of how close I was getting to nine.

"Well I suppose I ought to write back and let him know that he's a little late, but to thank him for being so kind and going to the trouble of returning it."

"It can't do any harm I suppose, and it's only polite after he took the time to mail it to you. Shame you can't retrospectively go back and claim your prize."

"Dad, I think I'm a little old for a Furby now," I joke.

"A Furby! So that was the prize. No wonder you were so keen to win it." My dad's mustache twitches and his eyes brows raise in mock horror.

I laugh as him and mom disappear back into the kitchen to finish tiding up whilst I go upstairs to write to the kind stranger who returned my balloon.

 **9 months later**

I wait impatiently near the baggage carrousels for him. I'm both anxious and excited and I can feel the butterflies building in my stomach the longer I have to stand here. Who would have guessed that letter, returning my childhood balloon, would have led to this meeting?

When I first wrote back to thank the gentleman and to explain I was now a fully grown adult and the balloon had been released thirteen years earlier I had no idea who I was writing to. Was he a young or an old man? Was he interesting or boring? I certainly never expected him to write back to me again. One letter lead to another, with us both sharing funny stories from our childhood. Then letters lead to emails. Emails quickly became Instant Messenger chats and before we knew it we were regularly skyping and calling each other. Now a day doesn't go by when I don't get at least a text message from him. It turned out he is also at college and was home visiting his parents when he found the balloon and decided to return it to me, and I'm so glad he did. Over the course of our correspondence we have developed an easy friendship, a friendship that has grown to a point where we have both admitted to building feelings, feelings that could be more. I so want it to be more. I have found him so easy to talk to. We share a sense of humor and I've never laughed so much in my life than when I'm talking with him. My heart was opening up to him in so many ways before I even set eyes on him, but when I did he took my breath away. To say he is handsome would be a gross understatement.

So we are finally meeting. I look up from my contemplations and see a tall figure approaching. There is no mistaking the disheveled mop of bronze hair and the rugged bristly chin, displaying at least a day's growth, just the way I like it.

I'm suddenly not sure how I should greet him. Do we hug, shake hands, kiss? But I needn't have worried.

"Bella," he exclaims when he spots me and before I know it he is swinging me around in his strong arms, his head nestling into my neck close to my ear. "It's so good to see you."

"Edward," I murmur as I take in a lungful of his scent as his arms embrace me and a thrill runs up my spin. He smells like home, like log fires and pine trees, and I feel so comfortable in his arms. Oh yes, this relationship could certainly be more.


End file.
